


Of Panic

by CeruleanMisha2 (CeruleanMisha)



Category: The 100
Genre: Anxiety, Comfort, Gen, Panic, Panic Attack, Reader-Insert, anxiety attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:33:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25509043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeruleanMisha/pseuds/CeruleanMisha2
Summary: Murphy is prone to panic attacks. You know the best way to comfort him is to just be there with him.
Relationships: John Murphy (The 100) & Reader
Kudos: 3





	Of Panic

It started with a tremor, a slight shaking of his hand. You probably noticed it before he did. You noticed, but didn’t comment; you didn’t want to call attention to it. He’s prone to panic, he has anxiety attacks often enough to be considered regularly. 

Within a few minutes, the trembling has expanded to his legs. You reach for his hand. He probably didn’t even realise his fingers were curled into a fist. His palm is clammy, like rubber You lace your fingers with his, giving him an anchor. You shift a bit so you’re facing him. Your other hand goes to his back, rubbing in a circular, calming fashion.

He doesn’t look at you, but that’s okay. You know he can’t, but he knows you’re there. The seconds feel like minutes, minutes feel like hours. There’s no way to judge the time that passes, it’s like the world is in slow motion. Nothing exists except the two of you, and the dark cloud of his anxiety hovering just above his head, raining down on him. 

His breaths are ragged, his inhale sounds like there isn’t enough open space for the air to pass through, when he exhales it sounds like there’s graven in his throat. He tears up and he’s powerless to stop the stream from rolling down his cheeks. You know he hates this, the physical effects of anxiety wracking his body.

You’ve got a firm grip on his hand and you give a squeeze. He responds with a slight squeeze to let you know he appreciates you. You both know if you weren’t there, he’d be curled up in a ball, crying and shaking uncontrollably. Instead he has you to hold his hand, to rub his back, to guide him through the dark clouds and help him find the light again. 

You talk to him, the words lulling and soft. It doesn’t matter what you say. You’re just giving him another anchor. Your voice is a focal point, something he can latch on to. He leans into you, his head against your chest, and eventually in your lap. You keep rubbing his back, occasionally shifting gears to run your fingers through his hair, you don’t let go of his hand. 

It takes a while, you don’t even know how long. Time has no meaning when he’s in pain. But finally he looks up at you, his eyes bright, blue as the summer sky. The color is electric after one of his episodes. He sits up, finds a tentative smile, and combs both his hands through his hair, making it stick up in unruly, unregulated spikes. 

“I’ll get you some water,” you tell him. He nods. Words are hard, in the aftermath of an attack. He doesn’t speak. He leans in to kiss your cheek before you get up to go and get the water for him. He accepts it gratefully, and reaches for your hand. He’s the one to lace your fingers this time, and he smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Been a hot minute since I wrote fic. Please don't forget to drop kudos and a comment if you liked this little scene.


End file.
